Never coming home
by ThePrimusLune
Summary: After the death of Fred,follow the deeply saddened George as he attempts to make his way through his life without his other half, without anyone to finish his sentences and mostly at his attempts to carry on a normal life. Full Genre inside story.
1. Aftermath

Summary: After the death of Fred, follow the deeply saddened George as he attempts to make his way through his life without his other half, without anyone to finish his sentences and at his attempts to carry on a normal life. Genre: Family, Friendship/Hurt, Comfort/ Tragedy.

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><p>Hey guys! So, I decided to try something a little different! Review and tell me what you think! And I'll be updating my other stories as soon as I can!<p>

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><p>George looked into the room he once shared with his other-half, his lost half. He took a deep breath before stepping forward into the green wallpapered room and was hit by a scent, a mixture of things, one of them being Fred's essence. He looked around the room; it was messy as always, Molly had given up on cleaning their room a few years ago and being them they never cleaned it. He cast his eyes upon the faded blue carpet, not much was seen of it as most of the space on the floor was taken up by puking pasties wrappers, Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans cases, and other rubbish of the sort. It was terribly messy, such that he could have sworn he saw a Chocolate Frog jumping around somewhere. Diagrams of new inventions for their shop were also splattered all over the room, and in the middle of the room was a pile of clothes long overdue for a wash, though this didn't catch his attention, what did was the top lying on the bed in the right side of the room. It looked as though someone had simply thrown dozens of paint brushes at it, and in black ink it said: 'Honestly, we really aren't twins!' with an arrow pointing to its left. Tears pooled George's eyes as he went back on all of the memories that this room held, from the crooked posters on the walls, to the pranks invented in this very room.<p>

George slammed his door shut, and made his way across the hall to the bathroom, first making sure no one else was there and looked into the mirror, instantly regretting it. He smiled at the reflection, almost trying to convince himself it was Fred, sometimes he'd have conversations with it, pretending to himself it actually_ was _Fred he was speaking to. Though he knew it wasn't, which was what made him hate his reflection, it reminded him of Fred too much, and he knew everyone felt the same way but they wouldn't say anything. "Why did you have to die, you arsehole" George whispered into the mirror before running back into his bedroom, glancing at his door which bore the words 'Gred and Forge' he ran into his room and stumbled over to his bed. He curled up into a ball and cried for all he was worth, cried for Fred. He knew Fred wouldn't approve of this if he was here, he'd give him a kick up the arse and tell him to "Get up and pull some pranks, you great sod!" But that was the thing, Fred wasn't here.

A few hours of intense crying followed, until George gradually got up from his bed, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand and making his way through the door, his head downcast so as not to see anything else which would result in him crying. He made his way downstairs; everyone seemed to be chatting, trying to forget the events of the war. Hermione and Harry joined the Weasley family long ago so it was no surprise as to why they were there; they were now basically part of their family. All chatter came to a halt when George entered the room, they all knew what he was going through, they gave him a pitying smile, too afraid to approach him. Time froze around them until Molly stepped forward

"Rightie then, what do you want for breakfast? Toast? Waffles? How about some pancakes? I know they're your favourite Fred –" Molly's eyes widened as she realised what she just said, the Weasley family onlooked intently to see George's reaction, worry etched in their features. The tension in the room was so thick you could slice it with a knife, George gave a teary-eyed grin and said, slightly shakily "Honestly Woman, you call yourself our mother?" Molly let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, smiling she took her son into her arms. "I'm so proud of you" she whispered into his ear as everyone chucked their cutlery and came up to join the hug.

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><p>Like it? Hate it? Love it? Want to hug it? Want to poo on it? Review and let me know! I'm writing the next chapter right now, and it'll be out as soon as I can get it out!<p>

~PrimusL


	2. The FUNeral beginnning

**Story name changed from: 'He wasn't there' to: 'Never coming Home'**

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><p>Never coming Home<p>

- ThePrimusLune

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><p>Chapter 2 – The <span>Fun<span>eral beginning

A/N: I'm a horrible person. I know. But thank you so much to everyone who reviewed in the previous chapter! I had this chapter written for ages, but my fanfiction account messed up and I couldn't do anything from the login screen! But it's all better now, and here's the next chapter of Never Coming Home.

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><p>Black robes, white tables. It was almost like a film on a 1950s television. Black, white, black, white. Except for the grey cirrus clouds forming in the afternoon sky, giving off the impression that it would rain, but it wouldn't, George thought. No, these clouds in the generally sunny afternoon sky were all paying a tribute to Fred, paying a tribute to this crestfallen day.<p>

It was a perfect funeral; no happy faces, no sun glistening in the sky, no colours in sight, everything that Fred would've hated. Everything about it would've made even the happiest or most malevolent of people depressed. Including Fred. The irony of it all was sickening to George, on how the final goodbye of someone so happy and free could be so gloomy and miserable.

People filled into the yard of the Burrow and sat themselves onto one of the many chairs – black, of course- decked out in front of the stage the inhabitants of the Burrow had formed earlier in the day.

So many people, and this was just the beginning. It was the first time it dawned on him that so many people really loved Fred, and they had all come here to offer their condolences, some came in disheartened attires and looked a complete and utter mess, to say the least.

Arthur was standing there, right at the entrance. His face attempting to keep a hardened look as his hands shook the newcomers'. Molly was a mess, she wasn't out there yet, out in the hell hole, I could hear her sobs from my room. Everyone else was outdoors, I could just make out the distinct shade of red hair belonging to my family members, all scattered throughout the garden.

A few raps fell on my wooden door, I chose to ignore them. Probably somebody attempting to beckon me into the garden. The raps occurred yet again, harder this time. My ignoring of this continued, as it was fruitless for me to attempt to even rise from my bed as I lay cuddled up in the duvet covers. Despite my ignoring of the knocks, I could hear the door creep open as light footsteps came my way. I hid myself under the covers, as though they could shield me from both the pain and sadness outside, along with the task of facing another human being. I felt my bed sink slightly as the inhabitant of the footsteps sat on my bed, my shield was slowly being pulled down from my head as I squinted at the light emitting from the window. I rubbed my eyes, my head remaining on the battered pillow. Looking up, I could see the soft features of Angelina Johnson, it was obvious to me that she was struggling to keep a strong face for my benefit, however I could see her puffy red eyes, the way the happiness had escaped them, her tear-stained cheeks and shaky demeanour.

She pulled up a watery smile and stroked the ginger hair from my freckled face. I attempted to smile back at her, but my attempts were nothing short of futile. Smiling was not an aspect of a funeral.

Her being here was comforting; however it didn't fail to make me wonder why she was here. She was Fred's girlfriend, not mine. Then I realized; emphasis on the was, George. I looked over at Angelina yet again, her fake smile had not faded.

"Have you seen the funeral decorations yet?" Angelina asked in a shaky voice

I nodded "He would've hated it" I said bluntly, we both knew who I meant by 'he' however it was too painful even so much as uttering his name.

Angelina nodded in response, there were a few moments of silence as they were both left to their own thoughts, until Angelina's face lit up. Her eyes widened and she made a little noise of excitement.

"George, I've an idea" She proclaimed as a grin started to make its way on her face, a genuine one this time.

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><p>I know I said that this chapter would be the Funeral, however I couldn't resist! The Funeral will be next chapter, I promise! But for now, review review review! They make me want to write more! ~ThePrimusLune<p> 


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